


The Once and Never Again King

by anarchycox



Series: Witcher Bingo Card Prompts [9]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Falling In Love, Feels, Jaskier & Ciri - Freeform, King Geralt, M/M, Mercenary Geralt, Past Geralt/Yennefer, Protective Jaskier, Soft Geralt, battles, different first meeting, happy ever after, protective Geralt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-13
Updated: 2020-07-13
Packaged: 2021-03-04 19:29:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25191697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anarchycox/pseuds/anarchycox
Summary: Geralt was once King of the North.But that was a long time ago, and now he is a mercenary.He comes across a bard protecting a girl who needs the sanctuary of the north and promises to guide them there.And with them he finds his true purpose.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Witcher Bingo Card Prompts [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1746034
Comments: 99
Kudos: 680
Collections: The Witcher Alternate Universes, The Witcher Flash Fic Challenge #004





	The Once and Never Again King

**Author's Note:**

> This is for Different First Meeting on my bingo card

Centuries later it would be the most revered painting in the land - a huge portrait of slain King Geralt, sword in hand, future queen Yennefer holding his dinted and tarnished crown in her hands, one tear sliding from her eye as she prepared to rule in her lover’s stead. 

But at the moment, it wasn’t a painting - it was real life.

So many people turned out to see their slain king interred in the mausoleum - his loyal knights and mentor ready to be sealed in with him. 

Yennefer stood there and lay a gentle kiss on Geralt’s cold lips, “My love,” she was heard to whisper and epic poems would be written of their love. Her hands trembled as she slowly placed the crown on her head. “King Geralt was your king to the last. He defeated the southern invaders who wanted to take away our magic and our freedom. He killed the emperor on the field of battle as his knights slew dozens, as my magic kept us safe. The cost of our freedom, he willingly paid his life. We will not mourn, but celebrate all that he and his knights have given us. They will be interred not with our wails of lament, but cries of joy. And I swear in my beloved’s name, that I will be a queen that honours his memory and heralds a mighty future for the north!” 

Winds whipped at her dress as Yennefer shouted, “Long live the king.” 

The crowd chanted it until Eskel’s soft voice began the cries of, “Long live the queen.”

King Geralt was carried into the tomb, and those at the front of the crowd saw, Lambert, Eskel, and Vesemir stand beside his body, at attention, ready to die with their king to guard him in the afterlife.

Queen Yennefer used her magic to seal the crypt for all eternity, and the people mourned and celebrated. 

Inside the crypt, Vesemir lit torches, and Lambert opened the secret door on the other side, Eskel poured Triss’s potion down Geralt’s throat. He began coughing almost immediately and sat up. “Thank fuck we are done with all that bullshit.” He drank the water that Eskel gave him, and they made their way through the passage underground, and Yen was waiting at the other end. Geralt knelt before her. “My queen.”

“Oh, get up,” she rolled her eyes and tugged him up. They hugged. “Are you sure about this?”

“I never wanted to rule Yen, every other idiot just kept dying until I ended up king.”

“You were a good one.”

“For war, but it is peace time now, and you’ll be a better ruler than I could have,” Geralt kissed her. “We’re warriors, Yen, and rule was destroying our souls.” 

Yen looked at the wolves. “I have a keep, hidden in mists, forgotten by people. You’ll have to hide for a long time, your faces too well known right now. I’ll nudge memories, alter what people thought you looked like, but it will take years.”

“We could use a rest,” Eskel said and kissed her cheek. “Be just.”

Lambert kissed her brow, “Be the bitch you are to the assholes who will try to challenge you.”

Vesemir kissed her head, “Be clever and patient.”

Geralt gave her a last kiss. “Be what I couldn’t.”

They wore cloaks and followed the map she gave them to Kaer Morhen and settled in. They restored the keep and lived quietly for decades, until a raven came with a note saying they could move in the world again. Four decades was enough to blur memories, aided by Yen’s magic. Vesemir declared that he wouldn’t go too far, well settled into the keep writing the stories of King Geralt and his knights. For children of all things. 

Geralt was annoyed by it, but couldn’t stop the old man. Eskel, Lambert, and Geralt knew they couldn’t travel together, when together it might challenge the forgotten memories. But they agreed to return home to Kaer Morhen for winter. Lambert wanted to sail the seas, Eskel wanted to see how the cities were faring.

And Geralt wanted to hunt. He missed the simplicity of killing monsters, bandits. He decided to set up as a sell sword. A far come down from being a king, but the first coin purse he was tossed for killing a group of drowners, felt better than the crown ever had. 

He was also amused by how many young men were named Geralt. The poor bastards. He saw that Yennefer had been ruling firmly but wisely and the northern lands prospered. He was curious how the south had fared over the decades and traveled in that direction, regularly working as a bodyguard for merchants, killing monsters. It was simple, understandable. Occasionally he would be told he resembled the once famed king and he’d laugh it off, share a drink with whoever said it. 

Geralt was no one really, and it was all he had ever wanted.

The south though, the deeper he traveled through it was a mess. Rulers vying for power, places where magic had too much sway, others where it was outlawed. It was a powder keg, and it was going to explode one day. He hoped that Yen was prepared for what may happen, and then had to laugh at himself, because of course she was. 

Geralt was in a village and looking at the notice board. The only jobs were for people to hunt down mages for coin and like fuck he was doing that. But there was one small note, asking for a bodyguard to guide a bard and his daughter north. They could be found in the tavern. It was dated two days ago, so Geralt figured there was a chance the job was still active. He went into the tavern and sure enough there was a bard singing, though the crowd didn’t seem particularly delighted. He ordered an ale and some stew and listened.

It was a song about the Battle of the Swamp and Bog. About him, that definitely wouldn’t play well in the south. Also every fact in the damn song was wrong. Christ, half his men had been shitting themselves for days from drinking that tainted water. They had only won because Geralt and Lambert set a trap in the peat fields. When bread was thrown at the bard he stopped playing and headed upstairs. Geralt finished his meal and went up the steps. He could trace the scent of the bard easily enough and rapped on the door.

“We are good for tonight,” the bard called. “Thank you, promise to pay up tomorrow!” 

Geralt could hear the desperation in his voice. “Were you the notice on the board for a bodyguard?” he asked and the door slowly opened. He raised his brow as he could see the open window. “You have no money at all, hmm?”

“What, no, we weren’t going out the window,” he blustered, and Geralt just looked at him. “We absolutely were. I had to spend a lot of our coin bribing men to get travel papers.”

“Let me in,” Geralt said softly and the door was opened all the way. He stepped into the room and looked at the girl. “Hello.”

“Hello,” she replied.

He smelled them both and looked at the bard. “She is not your daughter.”

“Of course she is,” the bard replied. Geralt was a bit impressed at how the man moved in between them. “She is my beloved daughter.”

“Beloved is correct, daughter is not. Is she kidnapped?” 

“No,” the girl sounded fierce, and there wasn’t a hint of fear in her voice. “Mama entrusted me to Jaskier, before she,” the girl swallowed, “Before she died.”

“And your father?”

“Not a concern,” Jaskier said. There was a finality to his voice that suggest he had been dead, longer than the mother.

Geralt breathed deeply. “And she has magic.” He looked at them. “Let me guess, help getting north to the lands where magic is welcome?”

Jaskier nodded. “Queen Yennefer understands magic.”

Geralt snorted a bit, “She is magic.”

Jaskier blinked. “What?”

“She is a sorceress, that is common knowledge.”

“Not this far south, not where magic is outlawed. I just heard rumours that Fiona would be safe in the north. We’ve tried to make it before, but it is hard.” Jaskier looked at him. “I don’t have money. But I can earn it, evidence to the contrary I am actually a great bard.” He tilted his head a bit. “I can offer recompense in a few different ways?”

Geralt looked at him. “No ass is worth that much,” he said and stepped to the side to see the girl. “What is your name?”

“Fiona,” she said.

“What is your name?”

“Ciri.” He studied her carefully, and approved of the way that Jaskier seemed to be reaching for a dagger.

“I’m Geralt,” he said. He went with his gut. “I’ll see you two over the northern border.”

“And the cost?”

“We’ll figure it out later,” Geralt reassured him. “I’ll go pay your tab, and we’ll head out.”

“Why are you helping us?”

Because once he had been a heroic king. “Because I have fuck all else going on,” Geralt replied. He went downstairs, paid, and waited at the edge of town with Roach. Soon the bard and the girl were there. Geralt put her up on the horse and they headed out of town.

“You know, you look a bit like the old king. The Geralt one.”

“I get told that upon occasion.” Geralt grinned at Ciri. 

“Jaskier has written so many songs about him - the last great hero our lands will ever see,” Ciri explained. 

“I highly doubt that,” Geralt demurred, “There are far better men than the once King Geralt. For my money, I always prefer tales of his brave knights. You have any songs about them? They were the real heroes.”

Jaskier beamed. “You know of Lambert and Eskel?”

“A great deal in fact,” Geralt replied.

“Let me sing you my ballad of Eskel and how he gained his scars.”

Geralt listened to the song that had fuck all to do with what really happened, but the bard had a good voice, and hearing Eskel’s name was nice - he missed his brother dearly. Taking them north would be a not taxing job.

*

“You failed to mention how many people were after you,” Geralt said after he killed yet another group who attacked them. The third one. And these ones had had some skill. “I feel we need to talk, bard,” he cleaned off his sword but didn’t put it away. 

“Yes well, I am a very popular fellow. Perhaps caused some trouble in my day.”

“All for her hmm? Just because she has magic?” Geralt looked in the direction they had sent Roach and Ciri when the fight broke out. He had to give Jaskier some credit because the bard didn’t shy away from these fights. He wasn’t great, but when Geralt knocked someone down, Jaskier made sure with his dagger that they stayed down. “How badly do people want you two to not make it to the sanctuary of the north?”

“Badly,” Jaskier admitted after a moment. “It…if I tell you the truth, we are likely in more danger. And I lied a bit. It isn’t just that we need to get to the north - we need to get to Queen Yennefer.”

“Fuck. Who is she?” Geralt began rifling through the dead men, collecting coin, anything that could be sold. “Jaskier?”

“I can’t tell you. There used to be more of us, and then the bounty offered for her capture grew too much. Some of our group decided it was time to turn her in. She was so scared. I loved her so much, like she was my daughter by that point. I poisoned them all, and we ran. Two years we’ve been running, but we could never get very far.”

“How do you expect to gain an audience with the Queen?”

“I have no fucking clue, but I know if I can she will guarantee Ciri’s safety.” Jaskier looked at him. “Please? Anything you want, it is yours. I’ll do whatever it takes, for her.”

“You said that before.”

“I did, but since I hadn’t fully expressed how fraught this journey would be.”

“Jaskier, I have fought in wars, a few bandits is no big deal.” Geralt finished collecting anything of consequence and began to follow Roach and Ciri’s scent. “I know how to contact the queen.” Shit he shouldn’t have said that. “Well, technically I can contact a healer, who knows people who serve the castle. I did a job for her once.” Freeing Temaria for Triss counted he was sure, it was only a near lie. 

“That’s impressive,” Jaskier said. “You know, you do surprisingly resemble King Geralt. There were never rumours about him having by blows, but I swear, I have studied the man thoroughly, every painting. Every story, you could be his son.”

Geralt just ignored that, and they found Roach and Ciri, and Geralt grunted in pleasure at seeing Ciri holding the short sword he had given her. “Good,” he said. “You’re safe now.”

“I’ll never be safe again,” she whispered. 

Jaskier ran over and hugged her. “You will,” he promised her. “I will make it happen, my princess.” He froze and shit, was all Geralt could think, but he decided better to pretend that he hadn’t heard that. They walked for a few hours and set up camp. This time Geralt requested songs of Lambert and fucking hell they made Lambert sound so noble, like the man hadn’t once defeated a prince of the east in a belching contest. 

*

Geralt was uncomfortable. These woods were not ones they should cut through. “We should go around.”

“I know the maps, we go around it is almost a week of travel. Through these woods we cut that time. Plus most people are superstitious think they are haunted. No one will follow us through them.”

“They aren’t haunted but they are protected,” Geralt said. “Jaskier you don’t want to take her through the -” Geralt turned when Roach nickered and they saw Ciri slowly walking into the woods. “Fuck, we cannot let her out of our sight.” Geralt started running, and dodged the arrows that started to come their way. Jaskier was following but since he wasn’t obviously armed the arrows were not aiming for him. 

The woods shone with an unnatural light. The air too rich, the trees too green. Fuck. He put a hand on Ciri’s shoulder, hauled her close. An arrow buried itself into a pauldron, deep enough it dug a touch into his skin. Jaskier caught up and threw himself around Ciri on the other side so that she was completely covered.

Geralt had fought in battles with less brave men than the bard. He looked around and he could see them, in the shadows.

“Dryads,” he whispered.

“They are a myth.”

“Then my eyes play tricks on me because I see at least a dozen.”

“Do you now?” a voice called to them. “Do you know what my eyes see Geralt of Rivia?”

Geralt looked over in the direction of the noise. He saw the woman, the leader and moved so he was in front of Ciri and Jaskier. “If you know that name, then you know I bid you no harm, that is not my way. We are protecting the child, until Queen Yennefer can provide her sanctuary. We only ask safe travel through these woods, and nothing more.”

“More should be asked of you.”

“All was asked of me and I gave it.” Geralt moved forward. “What more should I have given?”

“Yourself. You took yourself away selfishly.”

“I took myself away selflessly. I was not what they needed. I was what they wanted and that is different.” Geralt knelt in the muck. “If you wish to sit in judgment of me for that, I just ask that I see them through and then I will return.”

“NO,” Jaskier shouted and Geralt blinked as the bard moved in front of him, and pulled out his dagger. Geralt could hear a dozen arrows being nocked. “This mercenary has done nothing but be a good man. This job has paid him nothing but pain and he doesn’t complain. I have given him no coin, and have offered him myself in payment and he has refused. He doesn’t even know who she is, just that two people asked for help, and he gave it. Whatever crimes you think he has done, what he does for us has to certainly balance the scales.”

“If I told you who he once was, you’d be repulsed at his selfishness, his cruelty at being a mere mercenary.”

“I take his punishment,” Jaskier blurted out. “Whatever you would visit on him, I gladly accept on my shoulders.”

“And mine,” Ciri said stepping in front of both men. 

“No,” both Geralt and Jaskier said.

The leader of the dryads held up her hand. “Child, look at you shine.”

Geralt could indeed see her shining, almost painful to look at.

“I am Princess Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon, daughter of Queen Pavetta, the true heir to the lost crown of Cintra, and I will not see these men injured or judged.”

Well shit, that did explain a fuckton. Cintra was a land of in between. Control it and you could attack the north from a place of power. But it was a land of chaos, the line broken and lost - or so it was believed. And apparently that line was standing in front of him, jaw firm, limbs shaking. 

“An exiled princess, him, and a bard who will shape history.” The dryad shook her head. “Travel swiftly through our woods this once. And if you step foot in them again, the world will be shown exactly who you are, Geralt of Rivia.”

It seemed as if the woods parted, a path where none had been before. Geralt put Ciri on Roach. “Move swiftly,” he told Roach and tapped her flank, hurrying Ciri away. They followed after her, and Geralt resisted the urge to look over his shoulder.

“Are you a deserter?” Jaskier asked a moment. “Your accent is northern, they do not conscript for life.”

“They do for the position I held, and I live a very long life,” Geralt. “I was the warrior class, witcher, Jaskier. They change us, forever. And eventually I was so weary of who they expected me to be, I faked my death. Hid for a time, but my skills are all with a sword, I could never be a farmer. So I became a mercenary. And here we are.”

“I am a viscount,” Jaskier said. “Hated the pressure of it, all I wanted was to make music and fuck pretty people. And I ended up in Queen Pavetta’s hidden court. She was luminous and we were friends. When Ciri was two only my music could put her to sleep. I saw her die. Ciri was nine, and there was an attack. Pavetta trust a few of us to get Ciri out, but I went back, sure I could save her. I couldn’t.”

“You are a bard, that you even tried is impressive.” They could see the edge of the woods. Ciri was already out. “We are both men who ran from who they were, and found something that better fit us.”

“And now we run together,” Jaskier said.

“We do,” Geralt agreed and the burst out of the woods that seemed to close behind them. Geralt stumbled back a bit as Jaskier threw his arms around him and kissed him hard.

“I said you don’t have to pay me thusly,” Geralt said.

“Or I could want to kiss you because you are really fucking gorgeous,” Jaskier said. “Because I have wanted to for the last week.”

“In that case,” Geralt replied and kissed him even harder in return. 

“Umm, we should be traveling, right?” Ciri called to them and they broke apart.

“Right,” Geralt agreed. “Jaskier can you sing a song or two of Vesemir?”

“Why do you never ask for my songs about King Geralt, they really are my best ones.”

“Because he is boring, those he surrounded himself with far more interesting,” Geralt replied. He listened and actually it was a fair accounting of Vesemir’s mind and loyalty. When they camped that night, Jaskier slept next to Geralt and Geralt held him gently through the night.

*

When they stopped in a town, Geralt went to the local healer, and restocked some key supplies. The most important of which was ingredients he would need to send word to his brothers, and to Yennefer. They were not far from the border, a couple weeks out, but his gut told him something was coming, and he wanted the back up. He sent word via magic and memory and his medallion glowed when he was successful. He went to the tavern and Jaskier was singing and being better received the closer they were to the north. Geralt sat next to Ciri, and threw his arm around her.

“He has taken good care of you.”

“I don’t remember my father, but I have Jaskier,” she said. “He has been everything to me the last few years. Never been scared of me.”

“Should he be?” Geralt asked. Ciri nodded. “Yennefer will be able to help with that. Never seen anyone with magic as strong as her.”

“She was the king’s consort,” Ciri said, “They were in love. Those are Jaskier’s favourite songs to sing.”

“They loved each other deeply, but in love is a bit different. I am learning anyways.” The feelings that he felt growing for Jaskier were so very different from what he and Yennefer had shared. 

“Huh?”

“Nevermind,” Geralt replied. “After I deliver you two to Yen, do you think he would object to my being around occasionally?”

“You call the Queen of the North Yen?” Ciri was staring at him in shock. 

“Uhhh, what man hasn’t dreamed of being personal with her?” Geralt said swiftly. Ciri was glaring at him, “But of course those dreams are forgotten in the face of Jaskier’s charms.”

Ciri giggled a bit at that, and Geralt sighed in relief. He was relaxing his guard too much around them, and needed to be cautious. He listened as Jaskier sang of Old King Geralt and the deal he made that the pirates sailed under the northern banner. He was completely wrong, but there were good memories in those stories. 

They all shared a room that night, and when Ciri was asleep, Jaskier sat in his lap and they shared languid kisses and touches that grew heated enough that they went into the hallways and used hands to bring each other off. “Stay with us? When we reach safety stay with us?” Jaskier begged him.

“If I can,” Geralt said, he wanted to but it would be difficult to promise more.

*

They were not even a stone's throw ride from the border and at the top of a hill. “Fuck,“ Geralt cursed. There was a goddamn army waiting below. A hundred people waiting for them, to stop them from getting Ciri to safety. Geralt looked at their formation and began to plan.

“Are they for me?” Ciri’s voice trembled. “Jaskier?”

“They won’t have you,” Jaskier promised. “We’ll backtrack, and -”

Geralt dismounted from Roach and put Ciri on top. “The border is just across that river there, do you see it Ciri?”

“Yes.”

“Do you see the bridge?”

“Sure, but -”

Geralt nodded at her, “All you have to do is cross it and say these words, say them exactly. _My body carries strength, my heart carries hope, my mind carries promise, and I offer them all to the north_. Can you do that?”

“My body carries strength, my heart carries hope, my mind carries promise, and I offer them all to the north. But what will that do?”

“It will call Yen to your side. An old incantation of loyalty.”

“The queen? Just from those words?"

“They were my coronation words. Say them as you hold this, and the land and Yen will protect you.” Geralt put his medallion around her neck. “When I have them distracted, you ride hard across that bridge.”

“How will you distract a hundred men?” Ciri asked.

“Before I distracted a thousand.” Geralt kissed her hand. “You’ll know when to fly, sparrow, just fly.” He looked to Jaskier, “Roach will carry both your weight.”

“One man against a hundred? Two is better,” Jaskier said.

“Jaskier?”

“I love you daughter,” he swore. “Listen to Geralt.” 

Geralt ignored them and started to walk down the path to the waiting army. He pulled his sword from his back. Jaskier fell into step beside him. “You should go with her.”

“You were my hero growing up,” Jaskier said. “I lived for the tales of King Geralt, the fierce, the brave. Miss the chance to walk next to him in certain death? Hell no. And it gives her a better chance.”

“I’m just Geralt, a random mercenary.”

“I often sound like an idiot, doesn’t mean I am one. Put the pieces together after the woods. Why did you fake your death?”

“Because it wasn’t my destiny. This moment was,” he realized. They stopped a hundred feet away from the army. “I think if we had more time, we would have fallen in love.”

Jaskier snorted, “Please I fell in love with you the day we met. You being the man of my younger self’s dreams, just an add bonuses, and oh fuck we are so dead.”

“Hmm,” Geralt agreed. “Honestly, just really happy I no longer fight in that crown.”

“It always did make you look like an idiot,” Lambert said walking through a portal.

“Oh really, in comparison to that fucking hat?” Geralt grinned at Lambert. Eskel and Vesemir were right behind him. “Brothers. Father.” The portal closed before he could see who cast it.

“Who's he?”

“My bard,” Geralt replied.

“Holy fucking Melitele, I have written so many songs about all of you.”

“Vesemir, we’ll take care of the army,” Geralt said. “Ciri on that horse there on the hill, she knows the words, make sure she gets across the river.” Vesemir nodded and peeled off towards the road. “Jaskier, you should -”

“Staying right here,” Jaskier said. “Because you are going to do something noble and insane, and I am not fucking missing seeing the risen king do that shit.”

“No king, just a man doing what is right,” Geralt said and he walked forward, and Eskel and Lambert fell in on his sides and just behind him, like they did in days of old. Jaskier was in the V they formed, singing one of the songs he had written about Geralt. It was about the last battle where he had ‘died’ not exactly a comfort and completely wrong, but it was a good song. They pressed forward and Geralt wondered how they looked to the men waiting.

Insane, like ghosts of old perhaps, based on a few shouts and a couple men breaking and fleeing. 

“It’s King Geralt,” he heard someone shout.

He could feel Eskel gathering his strength, and Lambert had a bomb in his hand. Geralt smiled a bit, “now,” was all he said, and Lambert threw the bomb, Eskel cast an aard so strong it knocked 20 men back, and Geralt ran, faster than any animal and began cutting through their ranks. He didn’t think of Ciri, or Jaskier or anything but the task in front of him. He fought as hard as he could, as he had to protect whole nations, his nations, decades ago. He and his brothers moved seamlessly in unison, and Jaskier fit in well, darting around and making sure no one got back up after the wolves put them down. He could hear hooves flying by and saw Vesemir on Roach with Ciri, protecting her with his body. 

And Geralt saw an archer, aiming. He roared and ran, jumped into the air and the arrow that would have pierced them hit him instead, finding a perfect gap in his armor, going through skin in between ribs and he knew into a lung. He collapsed to the ground and slammed aard down, halting the people coming for him. He looked over and Vesemir had her across the bridge. He saw a ripple in the air, one he recognized.

Ciri had said the words she was safe. Geralt knelt and then stood. He stumbled but raised his sword. His brothers were moving towards him, but he doubted they’d get to him in time. Jaskier was closer. Geralt probably think that he looked good covered in blood, but he did. He slashed with his sword; he wasn’t impressive but he was keeping the soldiers at bay. Geralt killed another but a sword slashed at him and he couldn’t deflect it. He collapsed. Geralt was going to die as he should have in battle so long ago. 

He was surprisingly fine with it. A sword was raising and he heard so many screams and then it was all black.

When he awoke it was to a sweet voice reading to him. He looked over and there was Ciri, in clothes that made her look every inch the princess that she was. “Your highness,” he choked out.

“Your majesty,” she said in return.

“Fuck no, just a sell sword,” he said as he tried to sit up. He groaned because he felt damn weak and his torso was covered in bandages. “Yen set you up well?”

“She’s terrifying.”

“Yup.”

“And wonderful.”

Geralt smiled as he was finally sitting up. “Yup.” He looked at her. “Bet you’ve been established at the palace?”

“My own suite, tutors, proclamations about my safety are out. She already said that there will be plans, to take Cintra so that I can rule one day.” Ciri bit her lip. “You gave your life for me.”

“I’m still here.”

“You died for seven minutes.”

“Interesting.”

“I can never tell anyone King Geralt died to protect me, can I?”

“No, Ciri, you can’t,” Geralt told her. “I left it because it was not what was best for the people. Yen was. I was a wartime king, and now it is peace. But when you rule, if you ever need a mercenary, I promise you a huge discount.” 

“I should let everyone know you woke up.” Ciri hurried from the room, and Geralt shakily got to his feet. He was naked other than bandages.

He was made it behind the screen to piss, and the walk back seemed very far away. “You brought me a princess. Decades I don’t see you and you bring me a princess to raise. You could have just sent flowers, you know.” 

“Just help me back to the bed, Yen,” Geralt held up an arm, and she slid underneath, guided him back. He took a good look at her. “Rule suits you.”

“Yes, it does,” she agreed. “You can’t stay here, you’ll raise too many questions.”

“I know,” Geralt said. “But it is good to see you.”

“And you. Triss will go to Kaer Morhen with you, just to make sure you heal well.”

“Yen, I heal fine, you know this.”

“Indulge my worry,” she said and he nodded in agreement. She helped him dress and told him about the kingdom and her plans now that Ciri was in the mix. He offered a couple military suggestions and knew she was listening. “Geralt, the people do miss you. You could -”

Geralt kissed her gently. “They really don’t, they miss the man of the stories, not me. Let that man stay dead in that mausoleum.”

She nodded. “I’ll let Ciri come visit, get some sword training from all of you.”

“I will enjoy that. You’ll set Jaskier up as your court bard, I hope. He’s fairly good.”

“We’ll see what happens,” was all she would commit to but he understood that. Triss came in and grinned at him. 

“Fine,” he sighed and she opened a portal to Kaer Morhen. She also had to drag him through. It closed and he breathed in home. It was good to be back.

“And to bed with you,” she ordered. “Need help on the stairs?”

Yes.

“No, I’ll be fine,” he said. 

“I’ll help him,” a voice called. 

Geralt turned, shocked. “Jaskier.”

Jaskier was under his shoulder, they started to walk. “It is me,” he agreed.

“You should be with Ciri, at court.” Geralt breathed in the scent of Jaskier and he smelled so good, and happy. And like love. 

“She needs time to settle in, build her life with the queen. I’m a bard, she needs that royalty right now. I’ll see her soon enough. It just would be nice to have a break, from the responsibility.”

“I understand that.”

“I thought you might.”

“Where are you staying in the keep?” Geralt tried to sound casual.

“Please, I’m already set up in your room.”

“Good. That’s good. In a few days I’ll even be able to enjoy that thoroughly.”

“I’ll look forward to that, my king.”

“Just any old sell sword,” Geralt reminded him.

“Not just any,” Jaskier protested. “And what do I call you if not my king?”

“My love?” Geralt suggested. He was growing weak and was grateful when they lay him down on the bed. “How does that sound?”

“Like I am going to write a thousand songs about you. My love.”

Geralt yawned and pulled Jaskier down next to him. “A tale of a mercenary and a bard sounds pretty interesting.”

“It will be magnificent.”

“I look forward to that,” Geralt said and fell asleep, listening to Jaskier figure out how the confrontation with the dryads would be in song. It was all completely wrong, of course, but it sounded nice.


End file.
